


your stare's 'bout to kill me (I'm surprised when you kiss me)

by shield_maiden



Series: Harringrove [10]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy has more issues than a vogue subscription, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Billy Hargrove, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 12:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17182913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shield_maiden/pseuds/shield_maiden
Summary: Billy expects Steve to recoil away from him, to lash out with fists and knees and elbows and push him back.He doesn’t expect Steve’s lips on his, desperate and tasting of cheap beer and the faintest trace of cherry lipgloss.





	your stare's 'bout to kill me (I'm surprised when you kiss me)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back (finally) and have been endlessly stuck on this one between writers block and just not liking anything I’ve written. I decided I just needed to post it even if I’m not happy with it just so that I can move on to the next part.
> 
> Title is from ‘1950’ by King Princess (aka the loml)

Billy took a last drag on his cigarette before letting it fall from his fingers and grinding it into the cool, damp earth with the heel of his boot.

‘Fucking weird town letting teenagers have bonfires in the middle of the woods.’ he thought as he exhaled heavily and stepped through the trees towards the bright orange glow ahead.

It was dark already, and without the glow of the bonfire and light of the full moon he would have probably tripped on the knotted tree roots that broke through the earth to disrupt his path. Finally he stepped into the clearing.

It was large, and that was a good thing judging by the fact that most of Hawkins High school seemed to be here, clustered around the fire or near the makeshift drinks table someone had set up. Steve doesn’t seem to be here yet, and Billy is half-thankful-half-concerned by that.

He stands near the fire, basking in the warmth it emits, and it takes approximately half a second for Stacy to latch onto him again, her hand feeling much too small in his own. He can’t help scanning the mass of people for that familiar figure even as he half listens to whatever bullshit is coming out of Stacy’s mouth, occasionally taking a swallow from the red solo cup of beer that someone handed him.

* * *

 

He’s well into his second drink when he first catches sight of Steve, striding into the clearing behind Wheeler and Byers, who looks about as excited to be here as Billy feels. Steve meets his gaze and he must stiffen subconsciously because Stacy looks up at him, a confused expression on her face. Steve only looking away when Wheeler shoves a red solo cup into his hand, beer sloshing over the side.

Billy watches still, even as Steve brings it to his lips and drinks, transfixed by the way the other boy’s throat works as he swallows. He downs the rest of his own beer as quickly as possible, spilling down his chin in his haste to just get drunk, swiping up the stray drips with the back of his hand.

Going to get a refill from the keg puts him closer to the three than he’d realized, and from this distance he can see the looseness in Steve’s muscles, mirrored by the foreign sense of relaxed ease from Byers. Even Wheeler looks relaxed and happy, with Byers arm draped over her shoulder, her eyes slightly glassy even as he feels her gaze follow him to the keg.

They’re high. All three of them, he realises.

Possibly already drunk too.

He wonders if they’d simply passed a joint and bottle back and forth on the walk through the woods, or if they’d lounged around Harrington’s mansion instead. He frowns into his new beer when he realizes how jealous he is and stomps back to Stacy, promising himself he won’t look at Harrington for the rest of the night.

Much less think about why the other boy had been so insistent he be here in the parking lot the other day.

* * *

 

He succeeds for maybe half an hour, although it feels like much, much longer with Stacy plastered to his side trying to get him to make out with her even though he’s very clearly ignoring her in favor of hopefully getting drunk enough to forget about Harrington. (He’s beginning to think he’ll never be drunk enough to forget about Steve. Ever.)

Eventually he blows Stacy off completely, disentangling himself from her grasp with harsh words that he has to yell over the loud music and a scowl. Her face falls, and he feels nothing. He tells himself that she deserves it even, as he walks away, kicking an empty solo cup out of his path as he goes.

Finally when there are several feet between them, he lets himself look around the clearing, and Steve is nowhere to be found.

He should be relived, but he isn’t.

Instead irritation prickles through him, irritation at Steve, at Stacy, and most importantly at himself. ‘Fuck this shit.’ He thinks to himself angrily, as he feels the rage inside him beginning to bubble up again.

* * *

 

He’s slowly and drunkenly picking his way through the forest by the light of the moon when he spots the couple making out against the tree a few feet ahead of him, and he stops in his tracks to watch them. They must be equally drunk to not have noticed his approach, because even with the music and noise of thirty something teenagers from the clearing, he was far from quiet, but still they didn’t pull away.

It’s getting hot and heavy and he stops, watching as the boy places his leg between the girls thighs, subconsciously licking his lips as he watches her hips shift, obviously grinding down on the denim clad thigh beneath her.

It’s then that his brain registers who he’s watching and his stomach turns, his hummingbird heart feels like it stops dead.

It’s Steve.

He continues to stare motionlessly for what feels like minutes and hours but is really only seconds. It’s like he’s frozen, like the world around him has stopped and fallen away around him.

Then the girl (Mary? Maddison?) moans Steve’s name, and it’s like the world has come rushing back into place. Its suddenly both too loud and too quiet all at once and Billy feels his anger swell and crash over him like an all consuming wave and sweeping away any remnants of conscious thought.

It’s like he’s watching himself from a distance, as he stalks towards the couple, his foot falls still not loud enough to alert them even as twigs snap and leaves crackle under the soles of his boots. One hand reaches out and fists in Harrington’s jacket and he drags him away from her, ignoring their shocked protests.

“Go back to your friends, sweetheart.” He drawls, giving the last word more bite than it needs, hand still fisted in Steve’s jacket even as he attempts to struggle free. He doesn’t release him until she’s gone past him, stumbling slightly on unsteady feet, back to the bonfire. Part of him preening that he still has this level of control.

The second he’s free Steve swings at him, all anger and drunken stupidity. Billy feels a crazed grin stretch over his face, even as a knuckle just catches him on the cheek as adrenaline roars to life inside him. Like a fire that had all but burned itself out getting a fresh injection of oxygen.

‘If that’s how you want it, Harrington’ he thinks to himself as he easily dodges the next fist that comes flying at his face, watching as Steve stumbles as the momentum of the punch carries him forwards, sending him shoulder first into a tree. He thinks he hears a pained gasp from the other boy, where he’s now leaning doubled over against the tree trunk.

But it could just be both of them breathing hard, and his blood is rushing in his ears so maybe he’s hearing things.

He stalks forward, boots crunching heavily in the leaves and twigs that litter the ground, only stopping when he’s right in Steve’s face, they’re breathing the same air, and he can’t help but think back to the last time they had been this close. (Steve sniffling quietly, sitting beside him in the back of the Camaro, clutching at his hand for dear life as though he would vanish into thin air the second he let go.)

He expects Steve to recoil away from him, to press himself against the tree trunk or to lash out with fists and knees and elbows and push him back.

He doesn’t expect Steve’s lips on his, desperate and tasting of cheap beer and the faintest trace of cherry lipgloss.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated as always. Follow me on tumblr @crimson- -petrichor and send me prompts!


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